I Don't Even Think Of You That Often
by I Was Here Moments Ago
Summary: Peter got arrested instead of Sirius, but Remus still never came back. (Past RL/SB)


It's been four years since they'd last made eye contact. More since Remus had left. Less since he'd gone.

It's on days like this he remembers. The day dark before nightfall, rain and clouds obscuring the sun long before the moon is due to come up, the only light in Sirius's cramped flat coming from the flickering fireplace and it all serves as a reminder. Remus loved days like this. He loved Sirius on days like this, on days when the cold kept them inside and close and they could quietly and seriously discuss nonsense and wars and make promises neither of them intended to keep and they would inevitably fall silent simply because they'd run out of things to say which didn't delve too deep - trust was a fragile thing even back then, back when they could look at each other.

He wonders where Remus is now, what he's doing, if he's heard. Of course he's heard. Everyone heard. He wonders if he cried. If he goes to sit by the graves of his one time best friend and his wife, if he wonders how Harry's doing. If he thinks about Sirius. He wonders how many new scars litter his face and arms and thighs and wonders whether the tiny one on his left hip has faded. That one was Sirius's favourite, partly because it hadn't come from the moon and instead from Remus being in far too much of a hurry to see Sirius and bumping it on a lethal corner of some library desk (he can still hear the hissed _shit_, still see, if he thinks hard enough, the way Remus's eyes had been watering when he'd laughed), and partly because Sirius was quite sure he was the only person other than Remus who had ever seen it. Maybe he still is. A small, selfish part of him hopes so.

Sirius hadn't blamed Remus for leaving, and if Sirius had been a braver man he might have left first. The thing which continues to perplex him, though, is how he'd never seen it coming. Remus had been absent for weeks - _months -_ leading up to it. Quieter. Sadder. He remembers one argument when Remus had sat in the uncomfortable armchair by the fire and Sirius had been _cruel_; they'd all suspected Remus and Sirius never regretted being careful, not even now, but that time he'd gone too far. He'd shouted, he'd been cold and unkind and Remus had sat there and silently accepted it. That one time he never argued back and Sirius had taken that to mean he'd won, when really Remus must have been thinking about whether Sirius would remember this when he woke up to an empty apartment weeks later. Of course he'd remember. He'd never forget. Remus had written four notes, left them in the bin instead of on the table, each more incoherent and scribbled than the last. The final one he must have written, the one on the top of the pile, was a series of crossed out _Sirius_es like he hadn't been quite sure how to begin. The only other thing on the page was _I've gone _which he hadn't bothered crossing out before he'd thrown the paper away.

Sirius still has the notes. He doesn't look at them, but he likes to know they're there, likes to imagine on days like today Remus will show up soaking wet on his doorstep to finish them off, to explain, to stay. Neither of them deserve each other, though, they'd both been wrong. They'd both been hurt. Remus could be cruel too, Sirius decided. He'd hoped he'd see him at the funeral but he hadn't shown up; Sirius had spent most of the time scanning the crowd for him instead of listening to people who had clearly never had a single conversation with James describe him. At least Remus could come back. Maybe. But why should Remus care that it had been Peter Pettigrew? _Remus _knew he was innocent, it had been Sirius who had questioned that and Remus had saved them both by leaving, cutting their relationship off like a gangrenous limb before it infected the rest of them. Once the trust is gone, it's simply a matter of time before the rest follows.

He's startled back to reality when a gust of wind knocks something over in the kitchen and Sirius realises he's forgotten to close the window. Harry startles awake in Sirius's arms at the noise.

Remus isn't coming back, and maybe it's best for both of them.

* * *

_Title from the Leonard Cohen song which inspired this fic, Chelsea Hotel No. 2_


End file.
